The Trans-Siberian Hustle: The Train Job (3/4)

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

On the ground in Vladivostok, Scott makes a voice-scrambled call to set up the critical part of the All-New and Expanded Grand Plan.



"Hello?"

Scott adjusted his headset, hoping the voice scrambler was doing its job. It was a recent addition to the Blackbird's com equipment, and this was the first opportunity anyone had had to use it. "Ms. Mayes?" he asked, speaking normally.

"Yes. Who's this?" the reporter asked briskly, although Scott could hear a trace of curiosity in her voice. "And are you using a voice scrambler?"

Scott almost laughed. "That distinctive, is it?" Word on this particular foreign correspondent was that she was smart, very smart. And wanted Trish Tilby's job, which Scott found very entertaining.

Cynthia Mayes did laugh. "Just a little," she said, and now there was something almost like excitement underlying her words. "It's not unheard of, when someone's passing along information and doesn't want to be identified. Do you have something you want to tell me?" The question was conspiratorial, amused.

She was very good, Scott thought. No wonder she was managing to get so many successful interviews in this part of the world, even from people who would usually have been more inclined to shoot Western reporters on sight.

"Do you have plans for tonight?" he asked, instead.

"Nothing I can't reschedule."

Scott rattled off the address for Faraday's rendezvous with the smugglers. "You might want to find a quiet corner somewhere in that area around nine tonight," he said. "A very quiet corner. And bring your cameraman."

Mayes was silent for a moment. "Risky?"

"Possibly. If you're seen."

"Are you going to tell me what's worth the risk, Deep Throat? Or is it supposed to be a surprise?"

Scott smiled faintly. "Do you know the name Gideon Faraday?"

The answer was immediate, which reassured him. It would have truly sucked if the reporter they'd picked for this had never heard of Gideon and didn't see why this would be of any interest to her. "CEO of Eris Consulting. Yes. I've run across them out in the field a number of times. Weird company, seems to do a combination of charitable work and consulting."

"He's here in Vladivostok tonight purchasing something."

"And why should I-"

"A human being."

Silence. "Oh-ho," Mayes said softly. "Human trafficking by an American businessman."

"An American businessman currently under investigation by the American government," Scott said. "I don't know if you knew that."

"... no, I didn't. What for?"

"All kinds of assorted bad things. Everything from human rights abuses to terrorist affiliations." And if he was caught red-handed at this, it could be just the thing Val Cooper needed to ram through that investigation. Human trafficking on national television.

"My goodness, is it Christmas and no one told me?" was Mayes' almost merry response. "This sounds far more entertaining than a drink with a colleague I don't like at my hotel bar." She paused, then rattled off the address again. "I've got that right?"

"Yes. It's an industrial area," Scott said. "Easy enough to be discreet."

"And being discreet would be a good idea, from the sounds of it. All right, Deep Throat," she said more briskly. "Worth checking out, at the very least."

"Glad to hear it," Scott said, relaxing a little in his seat.

"Yes, I think I can hear the relief, voice scrambler or no voice scrambler. You have some emotional investment in this?" Mayes said almost casually.

Scott opened his mouth - and then closed it again, smiling ruefully. She was very good. "Drive safely, Ms. Mayes. It's supposed to be snowing tonight," he said, and hung up.

---


Scott and Piotr take a train ride. Piotr brings vodka. Yes, the vodka is part of the plan. It's helpful having a local expert along when you want to put one over on the criminal underworld.


"I never liked the train," Scott murmured, keeping his voice low so that no one passing by in the corridor outside their compartment would hear him speaking in English. "Awfully slow way to get somewhere..." He eyed the bleak snowy landscape outside their window for a moment and then glanced at his watch. "Five more minutes."

"Yes, but would it not be that much harder if they had a supersonic jet?" Piotr asked, grinning. He was happy to be back home (or as near to home as he could be).

"Now that," Scott said, smiling back, "would be a tactical problem I don't think any of us could have solved. Hell, what we're doing is chancy... but I like the consequences of success enough enough to be okay about the risks." He glanced at his watch again, then shook his head, telling himself not to be jumpy. "You think you'll need any more than five minutes to clear the route?"

Piotr proudly held up a bottle of Mendeleev vodka and shook his head. "Two minutes and ten dollars say that they are all unable to look at anything but their navels."

Scott opened his mouth and then closed it again, trying very hard not to grin. It felt like the muscles in his face were protesting. How long had it been since he'd actually grinned? "You're enjoying this far too much, aren't you? And you're on, by the way."

Piotr stood up and walked over to the door. "I will make sure to save you a celebratory shot, my friend." As the door opened, he stumbled out, chuckling and staggering across to the next car, where a pair of armed security guards were discussing something. "~My friends!~" he called out to them in heavily slurred Russian, ambling like a drunk. "~May I tempt you?~"

One eyed the other, then shrugged, grinning. "~Why not? It's been a long trip,~" he said, reaching out for the bottle. The other looked dubious, but his friend scoffed at him, elbowing him. "~Pavel is watching the door on the other side,~" he reminded him. "~He'll never know.~"

In the compartment, Scott kept an eye on his watch. Pete was a compartment or two farther down the train. This all had to be timed right, or it wouldn't work.

"~You deserve it,~" Piotr said, nodding. He opened the bottle and took a short swig before handing it over to the more receptive guard. "~And besides, you're Russian! A little vodka won't do you any harm, right?~" A little wouldn't, but any more than a little sure would.

"~A reward,~" the more receptive guard said to his friend. "~We're almost to the city, aren't we?~" He took a longer swig, then another before he passed it over. "~Besides,~" he bragged, "~it takes a heavy night of drinking to put me off my game.~"

Normally, Piotr would never try to make someone do something because of peer pressure. He was a high school teacher, after all. But this wasn't normally, and he only had another minute or so to shift these guys' attention away from the train. So he clapped the reluctant shoulder hard on the back and smiled at him. "~I bet you can outdrink your friend here.~" He looked at the other and chuckled. "~He looks like a lightweight who just won't admit it.~"

The second guard called Piotr's mother a foul name and then took a hefty swig from the bottle. The first guard laughed uproariously. "~I think you've stung his pride,~" he said. "~Why don't we continue this in our compartment?~" He pointed out at an empty compartment to their left, away from the door that led into the freight car. "~We should be able to see anyone coming from in there,~" he said to his friend, slapping him on the shoulder. "~Especially Pavel!~"

"~Excellent!~" Swinging his arm around both the soldiers' shoulders, he followed them to their compartment, leaning on them and occasionally slipping to maintain his facade. "Your turn," he mumbled into the communicator on his collar.

"Thank you, Mr. Local Expert," Scott subvocalized back and got up, walking quickly but not too quickly to the next car. He saw the half-open door of the compartment and waited until he heard an outburst of laughter from inside to walk past.

No one called out from inside the compartment to stop him. Scott exhaled on a soundless sigh, then glanced at his watch. "Five minutes, check," he subvocalized, and then focused on opening the first of the doors to the freight car as quietly as he could.

—


Scott gets into the freight car and finds the crate containing Gideon's cargo. The girl in the box is a little disoriented, not unexpectedly.


There were a limited number of crates in the freight car large enough to hold a human body. Three, actually, all of which had what could have doubled as air holes, and Scott bit his lip, trying to figure out which he should try first. All three had markings on them, but in Russian, which was one of those languages he didn't speak or read at all. Dammit. He didn't want to chance just calling out, in case the girl - MacInnis had come through with her identity while they'd been in the air - started screaming. Having attention drawn to them now would blow the whole damned thing.

Then he heard it, barely audible over the noise of the train. Soft weeping, and it was definitely coming from the crate on the left. He moved swiftly to the crate, picking up a crowbar and pulling off the lid. The girl inside whimpered and raised her hands to cover her eyes.

"It's all right," Scott said softly, reaching in and lifting her. She didn't struggle - probably couldn't, given how long she'd been lying there in the same position. He set her down gently on the floor of the freight car, half-upright against one of the other crates. "I'm here to help. I'm not with them." He knelt down in front of her and took her ice-cold hands in his, rubbing them gently. She didn't seem to be focusing on him. That wasn't good.

A subvocalized warning from Piotr reminded him of the time, and Scott responded. "Got her. Waiting on Cannonball." He rose briefly, peering into the crate and seeing the empty bottles and food wrappers. At least they'd left her something to eat or drink, although he wished he'd thought to bring some water for her.

"Do you speak English?" he asked quietly, crouching down in front of the girl. She nodded jerkily, lifting her head out of her hands. "I'm Scott," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Just... take it easy. Someone's going to be along to get you out of here shortly."

"G-Galina," she said, looking up at him almost imploringly. "Out of here? How?"

Scott's eyes flickered to the roof of the freight car. "Not the conventional way," he admitted, then gave her his best reassuring smile. "But it has the fringe benefit of getting you away from here very fast."

---


Sam plays catch the train. Then he gets to play ‛knight in shining armor'. As he gets the girl out of there, someone else gets put in the box.


Sam grimaced. Attempting to match speeds with a moving train was still not the easiest thing in the world, even if his control had jumped by leaps and bounds from the days when he regularly plowed furrows in the mansion lawn. Eyeballing the train, he checked the car Scott had told him to look for. The slipstream of the train buffeted him as he neared the train, but he managed to steer through it. Finally, biting his lip, he cut his blast field out, landing on hands and knees in a sprawl, clutching at a stanchion on the roof of the car. Not the most graceful, but as they said, any landing you could walk away from...

*Thump*

Scott bit his lip, hoping that wasn't as bad as it had sounded. "Stay right there," he told Galina and climbed on top of the crates, reaching up to undo the inside lock on the roof hatch.

Sam gathered his feet under him and scuttled over to the hatch, ready to pound the stuffing out of whoever poked their head through it, if it turned out not to be Scott.

Scott raised an eyebrow as he did just that and caught the rather pugnacious look on Sam's face before it faded. "Got her," he subvocalized over his com. The train was making entirely too much noise for casual conversation. "I'll pass her up in a minute. She's fine, just a little shaken up."

A minute shrug hunched Sam's shoulders as he unclenched his fist. "Better safe than sorry, Cyclops. Next time knock before you stick your head out." He grinned to show he was just having a bit of fun at his CO's expense.

Scott rolled his eye at him and then vanished back down into the car. "Come on," he said, offering his hand to Galina. She hesitated, obviously uncertain, and he gave her the warmest smile he could manage. "Look - you'll be out of here and away from those bastards in two minutes flat. It's all right."

She swallowed visibly and then got to her feet, taking his hand. Scott pulled her up to the top of the crate with him, then lifted her up to Sam's waiting hands. She didn't weigh very much.

Galina blinked at Sam, obviously still disoriented, and then grabbed at the front of his leathers as the train went around a curve and the wind picked up. She hid her face against his chest with a little whimper.

Damn. The scared, tentative way she moved, not to mention the obvious touch of malnutrition and dehydration from being shipped in a box... Sam added a few more things to the mental list of crimes he hoped Gideon Faraday would somehow pay for eventually. Wrapping his arms gently around Galina's waist, he smiled with his best Country Boy charm. "Ya ever been flyin'?" he drawled.

She looked up at him. "Well, in a plane," she said faintly, the briefest flare of spirit in her eyes.

Scott poked his head up through the hatch again. "We're hitting time," he subvocalized somewhat reluctantly, not wanting to rush the girl. "I'm closing the hatch. Colossus and I will get off at the next stop and meet you back at the airfield."

"Check, Cyclops," Sam replied subvocally. As the hatch closed, he chuckled. "Ah. Well, we do have a plane, but Ah tend ta think my way is more fun," he replied.

Galina blinked at him. "I will... take your word for it." Her grip on him tightened spasmodically as he rose. "I just want to get out of here," she went on shakily.

Sam patted Galina's back gently. "That Ah can absolutely handle," he said reassuringly. "One Kentucky Cannonball Express coming up. This can be a mite loud," he warned her, kicking his blast field in and rising smoothly off the train.

Below, Scott jumped down off the crates just in time to see the doors at the end of the freight car open again. He raised an eyebrow at the semi-unrecognizable Pete. Alison had done a hell of a job with the stage makeup. "She's safely away," he said, then turned back to the shipping crate. "This might be something of a tight fit."

---


Meanwhile, back in Vladivostok, Alison and Nathan arrange to have one more angle covered.


"All right," Nathan murmured under his breath, somewhat amused, "this place is about as seedy as I remember." He glanced down at Alison, then tilted his head in the direction of the back of the bar. #Alexey bought this place after he was downsized out of the FSB,# he sent to her telepathically as they made their way through the crowd. Alison was getting ogled, but no one was making a move towards them, thankfully. #It's actually legitimate, although most of the rest of his business isn't.#

#Well, d'uh,# she thought in reply, knowing he was listening in to pick it up. #The seedy bar setting is just a little bit of a clue to that being in the works, yeah. It would make a great cover for anything else and it's a great meeting point and if that one gets up, I'm breaking his arm.# There was a degree of amusement to her words, though the thought was underlied with mild irritation at the gawkers in the room.

#Oh, by all means, please do. Probably the most effective response, if he does...# But he didn't. In fact, they didn't get bothered at all as they made their way through the bar. Part of that was because some of the regulars were recognizing him, even if it had been a couple of years since he'd been here, and part of it was that Alison was not precisely exuding 'yes, I would like to be bothered' vibes. Nathan's eyes slid towards her for a moment, amused, and then back to what was ahead of them.

The tall, dark-haired man - only an inch or two short of Nathan's own height, actually, which must have been hell for blending in while he was with the FSB - sitting at one of the larger tables in the back of the bar rose as soon as he saw Nathan, his eyes widening slightly. Nathan smiled a bit. "Privyet, Alexey," he said, and was somewhat startled when Vasily's brother came around the table and promptly gave him an enormous bear hug.

"I heard about GW," was the other man's response, finally, as he let Nathan go. His expression was tight, but there was something close to relief in his eyes as he gave Nathan a long, measuring look. "Vasily called me. From Mexico."

"It's a long story. We could use some help." Nathan glanced down at Alison again. "Alexey, this is Alison."

Somehow still managing to exude 'touch me and die' for an audience who could only see her back, Alison smiled pleasantly for the two men. "Hey! I'm the token blonde," she said, deadpan. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Nathan had many stories to share about you," she added, lips quirking ever so slightly, before she sobered up suddenly. "And yes. We could use some help."

Alexey nodded to her, although there was a certain amount of curiosity in his eyes as he turned that measuring look on her. He looked back over his shoulder, saying something to the other people at his table, who immediately cleared out - with the exception of two large and silent men, who quite obviously took up guard positions.

"Sit," he offered, before he did so himself. "What sort of timeframe?"

"Tonight," Nathan said, then grimaced a little as Alexey's eyebrow went up. "Oh, come on. When have I ever not come to you for helping wanting it right away?"

"When it's GW doing the asking and he's planning six months in advance," Alexey retorted rapidly, and then paused, real sadness in his eyes for a moment before his expression turned business-like again. "What can I do?

"Well, in this case the planning time frame was shorter, but if it makes you feel any better, you can always blame me for this one." She wished, for a moment, that they could still blame GW. "We need to find some people we can rely on to replace, as it were, the freelancers hired to provide security for a delivery, soon." She went on, smoothing one hand over the table absently. "We want to substitute the... cargo, for one of our own."

Alexey raised an eyebrow, looking from her to Nathan and then back again. "That, I can certainly do. Depending on who was originally hired-"

"Gerasimov," Nathan muttered in amusement. MacInnis had been helpful on many fronts when it came to providing intelligence for this mission.

Alexey snorted. "Then, this I can certainly do, as the bastard owes me many, many more than I'll ever live to collect." He pulled out his cell phone, then gave them a keen look. "Do I want to know what the cargo is? Or what the substitute cargo is?"

Nathan hesitated, then extended the answer telepathically. Alexey stared at him for a long moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again, sudden mirth dancing in his eyes. He shook his head, instead.

"I need vodka," he finally said, deadpan.

Nathan snorted at him. "After you make that phone call."